


Small Things

by sleuth



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 09:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8139413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleuth/pseuds/sleuth





	

He never thought he could feel it again. The appreciation of the small things in life. Yet somehow he began to notice—which was it first? the creases under Jesse’s eyes when he laughed at his own jokes, the way he pursed his lips when deep in thought, the way his brows furrowed when he was annoyed? Or maybe it was the rich sound of his voice, the low drawl of his words enough to still Hanzo’s breath. Or perhaps the way his eyes lit up when he hit the target dead in its red heart, or the way he looked at him with the same fire, grinning like a dog every time he was caught staring. 

The way he felt himself tremble the first time he unbuttoned Jesse’s shirt. The way he smiled back as Hanzo buttoned it back up the next morning, fingers calm and slow at the task, smoothing out the creases, adjusting the collar. And Jesse always knew when he was satisfied with his work, and he’d lift his chin to kiss him softly, the heat of his breath teasing his lips still for moments after.

He didn’t realize how ten years of festering self-hatred dulled the days. Senses sharp only for those who sought to kill him. The taste of food lost all flavour, the rays of sunlight gave no warmth, the beauty of nature left on him no impression. All was grey, heavy with his conscience.

But one day he woke up and found himself in Jesse’s arms and somehow the warmth of daylight returned, pouring through the curtains (thought it made Jesse grumble, wanting to sleep in still). He found himself relishing the hints of every spice when they had dinner together (Jesse would talk the whole time, Hanzo content to listen), the beauty of the sunset when they watched it with cold hands searching for each other’s warmth (tentative at first, bold with the stars).

He still has bad days—they both do. Days where nightmares of ill deeds or things entirely beyond their control chase them through narrow halls and dark storms, running, fleeing, until they meet a dead end. Hanzo stirs restlessly until Jesse pulls him into his arms, brushes back his hair and whispers in his ear that it is gone, but he is here. Jesse will wake with a start, the name of his fallen commander still on his lips, mind racing and heart throbbing in his chest until Hanzo reaches for his clenched hand and kisses the worry from his brow. The nightmares still come, but the dread of sleep is gone as their limbs tangle and breaths synchronize in the night. And in the morning, they rise and find themselves better rested than they have in years.

Deep down, Hanzo knows he can never forgive himself for what he did. But when he wakes up at Jesse’s side, he realizes he can at least live with himself. And he thinks, perhaps, that is enough.


End file.
